


Murder Is Thy Art

by Dark_Phoenix6661



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Batman 1989
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Phoenix6661/pseuds/Dark_Phoenix6661
Summary: Kind of if Jeremiah and Penguin were in the 1989 batman





	Murder Is Thy Art

****Penguin sighed as he walked into the art gallery. For some reason or another, he had been invited to this weird meeting. He nodded to his men as he sat down and looked around. Apparently he wasn’t the only one to get invited and it wasn’t the high class villains that had been invited either. It was the low class morons and thugs who thought they owed the city. The reminisces of the Falcones and the Maroni families were among them. Penguin felt slightly insulted that he was sat with them. He was the first super criminal Gotham had seen. He was the Penguin, crime lord and the genius who created the Riddler. He was… presented with a purple box with a green ribbon. He raised an eyebrow and opened it, seeing a crude gas mask that was painted in the same colours and a note that appeared to be written in crayon.

 

_Put this on right now – J_

 

Penguin looked at it confused then one of his men started to laugh. The others looked at him.

 

“What’s so funny?” He asked, frowning.

 

“I don’t- ha ha- know, sir,” He laughed as others began to join him. Penguin quickly looked around and noticed a purple gas leaking into the room. He quickly shoved the mask on as it spread among the lowlifes, making them laugh until their eyes bleed, the skin turned white and they fell down dead with a smile plastered on their face. A few minutes later, the doors burst open and a group of men and women dressed as clowns, mimes, jesters and harlequins literally danced in as music played. One of them was playing it from a portable speaker. They lined up and did a mock salute as a man in black coat and a black brim hat walked in. He stopped and turned to his men.

 

“Hand me the paint,” He ordered. One of his little minions handed him a paint brush with green paint on it. He proceeded to paint over a priceless picture by Salvador Dali. “Much better. Clowns, let’s make this _art_ better,”

 

The crazies laughed and began to vandalize different pieces of work as he walked around. One of them went to paint over a sad clown but he stopped them.

 

“Not that one. I like that one,”

 

“Yes sir,” The jester replied as he walked over to the table that Penguin was sat by. He shoved a corpse out the way and sat down, taking off his hat and sunglasses. Penguin was startled by the young man’s appearance. He was ghastly to look at. Pale white skin, dark green hair and blood red lips but his eyes were even more crazy. Piercing acid green eyes that striked through the soul. He just picked up the menu and opened it as if this was all normal.

 

“You can remove that now, Mr Cobblepot,”

 

Penguin slowly took off the mask as the strange young man searched through the menu.

 

“Hmm. I think I’ll have the chicken sandwich. What will you have, Mr Cobblepot? A tuna stake?” He deadpanned but his lips curled into an almost un-natural smile that send shivers down Penguin’s spine. He looked around before frowning. “Where are all the staff?”

 

“…. Dead...” Penguin replied.

 

“Ah yes. Of course. Only one gasmask,” He replied, clicking his fingers. A clown moved over. “Bring a chicken sandwich and would you like the tuna stake, Mr Cobblepot? Or do you have a preference for something else?”

 

“The tuna stake will do fine,” He replied. The man nodded and folded up the menu.

 

“Anything to drink sir?”

 

“Yes, I’d like a coffee. Black, two sugars,” He replied. “Mr Cobblepot?”

 

“Just a water please,”

 

“Of course, sir,” The clown replied, running off. Penguin looked at the man. He seemed very familiar.

 

“Penguin. I’ve heard a lot about you,” He replied, smiling that unnerving grin again.

 

“All good things I hope,” Penguin replied. “And you are?”

 

“We met before actually. It was only brief but it was when Jerome took me and Bruce Wayne captive,”

 

Penguin racked his brain for a minute but he did remember Jerome capturing Bruce Wayne and his twin brother, Jeremiah but this couldn’t be him. He was normal looking. He had nice blue eyes and ginger hair. He was geeky and shy and sane. Not… this.

 

“I’ll give you a clue,” He grinned. “I’m Jerome’s identical twin,”

 

Penguin looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Well… was his identical twin...” He mumbled. “Not so identical now...”

 

“Jeremiah?” He asked, causing the mad man to grin.

 

“So you do remember me?”

 

“Yes… but….” He looked at him.

 

“You can ask,”

 

“What the hell happened to you?”

 

“Jerome,” He stated as their food was brought over. “Ah perfect,”

 

“Enjoy the meal,” The clown laughed before joining the others.

 

“Jerome?”

 

“Yes,”

 

“Well… shouldn’t you be… your past self?”

 

“Oh, he left me a gift. A jack in the box, full of the less concentrated version of the gas I just used and tried to drive me insane. Luckily it didn’t work,” He replied. “Sidebar, he won’t be bothering Gotham anymore,”

 

“He’s dead?”

 

“Hopefully,” He replied, causing Penguin not to feel so horrified. “Might come back again but right now, he’s just in the bottom of Gotham River. You know sleeping with the fishes. Literally,”

 

He chuckled and that made Penguin nervous. He was clearly insane

 

“So why bring me here?”

 

“Oh merely to show what I can do,” He smiled. “I need funding,”

 

“For what?”

 

“Art of course,” He smiled, gesturing round. “Just one of my master pieces. I call it Massacre in the Museum,”

 

“And why would I fund you and your master pieces?” Penguin asked, looking around at the dead bodies. Jeremiah smirked.

 

“Because I asked nicely,” He replied.

 

“I’m interested in ruling Gotham, Mr Valeska,” He replied. “How do I know you won’t just stab me in the back?”

 

“Mr Cobblepot! I am an artist, not a crook,” He replied. “I now do what other people only dream. I make art until someone dies. See? I am the world's first fully functioning homicidal artist. I’m not interested in ruling Gotham but I do have plans,”

 

He got up and began to walk outside. Penguin frowned and followed.

 

“I have plans to rebuild Gotham in my image but every artist needs a blank carvast so all of this will have to go,” He replied. Penguin looked at him. “Bombs, Mr Cobblepot, I need money to build bombs,”

 

“Why would I help you do that?”

 

“I’ll place them where your enemies are and when they go boom, so will your enemies. Gotham is rebuild in my image and you get to rule it,” He replied. “And I did get you lunch,”

 

Penguin looked at the buildings.

 

“Well, the tuna stake was nice,”


End file.
